in the
wagon. Six sets of headlights set to high poured off the cruisers and the Volvo
of the guy who’d called it in. Alan leaned against one of those cruisers and
tried not to puke.
He’d seen what was inside.
Hee was shaking like it was zero degrees
out, clammy with sweat at the same time. All he kept thinking was at least she wasn’t one of them. At
least that.
Frommer stubbed out his cigarette on the
center line n| the tarmac and then carefully policed his butt into his jacket
pocket and walked over.
Alan shook his head. “I never. . . Jesus,
Frommer, that little girl . . .”
“I know,” Frommer said. “But I’ll tell
you, I think we can still hope for the best here, Mr. Laymon. I don’t think
we’ll find her out there. I think she’d have been in the car with these poor
people. These guys don’t seem to take too much trouble hiding what they do.”
He glanced toward the car and then back
to Alan.
“I told you you shouldn’t have looked,” he said. "Hell, I shouldn’t have either.”
* * *
“How far?” Ray asked her.
Ray was nervous, Emil could see
that—almost as nervous as goddamn Billy driving. It wasn’t like Ray. It wasn’t
the guy who could lift a wallet in plain sight or steal a car in broad daylight
on a busy street. Billy, on the other hand, was probably born nervous. He wondered
if maybe he should be doing the driving but then thought no, it was better back
here with his arm over whatsername’s shoulder and his hand playing with her
tit. Irresponsible but what the hell. They’d be all right.
“Just a few miles or so,” she said.
“They’re not gonna do this for free,” he
said.
“I know,” Emil said.
“So?”
He’d already thought that out. He didn’t
answer though. There was no way he was going to
let that out of the bag just yet. But
he knew about Hole-in-the-Wall from the joint and didn’t think it was going to
be a problem. Ray obviously did. He dug into his pocket and pulled out some
wadded bills and change and counted it. Emil watched him and almost had to
laugh.
“I got a total of seventeen dollars and
seventy-eight , cents.”
He grabbed the lawyer lady’s purse out of
her lap and flipped open her wallet and started counting the cash inside. She
didn’t make any effort to stop him.
“She’s got fifty-nine. Makes sixty-six,
seventy-eight. What about you, Billy?”
“Exactly twenty-five dollars. Exactly
what I came out with—you and Emil being kind enough to entail me my drinks for
free.”
“That’s ninety-one, seventy-eight. Shit.
Not even a hundred bucks. Emil? Maria?”
“Marion.”
“Marion, sorry. What’ve you got?”
Emil pinched her nipple and she jumped
and smiled, then reached over for her purse.
“Forty-three dollars, fifty-two cents,
hon.”
“Okay, okay. Shit, forget the cents.
Forty-three dollars. Forty-three dollars and ... what?”
“I believe we were up to ninety-one, Ray.
Ninety-one dollars, seventy-eight cents, when you bash your groupings,” said
Billy.
“Forget the seventy-eight cents, all
right? Forget the goddamn cents! That’s ... one hundred thirty-four. Emil?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Huh? Don’t worry about it? Jesus, Emil! We’re asking them to get us outa state
here, you know? And so far we haven’t got fifty bucks apiece!”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got plenty.”
“You got plenty. Fine. What’s plenty?”
“Your turn’s right here,” the lawyer
said. “Road to your left, just ahead.”
“Goddammit, Emil,” Ray said. “ What the fuck’s plenty ?”
* * *
She’d driven by one day, curious, but as
an Officer of the Court and “Little” Harpe’s attorney of record, she’d been
restricted from going any farther or seeing any more than she was seeing now—a
wide dirt strip maybe twenty yards across cut through open, uncultivated fields
on either side, rising up the slope of a mountain. No house in sight and no
gate. No structures at all. But
wagon. Six sets of headlights set to high poured off the cruisers and the Volvo
of the guy who’d called it in. Alan leaned against one of those cruisers and
tried not to puke.
He’d seen what was inside.
Hee was shaking like it was zero degrees
out, clammy with sweat at the same time. All he kept thinking was at least she wasn’t one of them. At
least that.
Frommer stubbed out his cigarette on the
center line n| the tarmac and then carefully policed his butt into his jacket
pocket and walked over.
Alan shook his head. “I never. . . Jesus,
Frommer, that little girl . . .”
“I know,” Frommer said. “But I’ll tell
you, I think we can still hope for the best here, Mr. Laymon. I don’t think
we’ll find her out there. I think she’d have been in the car with these poor
people. These guys don’t seem to take too much trouble hiding what they do.”
He glanced toward the car and then back
to Alan.
“I told you you shouldn’t have looked,” he said. "Hell, I shouldn’t have either.”
* * *
“How far?” Ray asked her.
Ray was nervous, Emil could see
that—almost as nervous as goddamn Billy driving. It wasn’t like Ray. It wasn’t
the guy who could lift a wallet in plain sight or steal a car in broad daylight
on a busy street. Billy, on the other hand, was probably born nervous. He wondered
if maybe he should be doing the driving but then thought no, it was better back
here with his arm over whatsername’s shoulder and his hand playing with her
tit. Irresponsible but what the hell. They’d be all right.
“Just a few miles or so,” she said.
“They’re not gonna do this for free,” he
said.
“I know,” Emil said.
“So?”
He’d already thought that out. He didn’t
answer though. There was no way he was going to
let that out of the bag just yet. But
he knew about Hole-in-the-Wall from the joint and didn’t think it was going to
be a problem. Ray obviously did. He dug into his pocket and pulled out some
wadded bills and change and counted it. Emil watched him and almost had to
laugh.
“I got a total of seventeen dollars and
seventy-eight , cents.”
He grabbed the lawyer lady’s purse out of
her lap and flipped open her wallet and started counting the cash inside. She
didn’t make any effort to stop him.
“She’s got fifty-nine. Makes sixty-six,
seventy-eight. What about you, Billy?”
“Exactly twenty-five dollars. Exactly
what I came out with—you and Emil being kind enough to entail me my drinks for
free.”
“That’s ninety-one, seventy-eight. Shit.
Not even a hundred bucks. Emil? Maria?”
“Marion.”
“Marion, sorry. What’ve you got?”
Emil pinched her nipple and she jumped
and smiled, then reached over for her purse.
“Forty-three dollars, fifty-two cents,
hon.”
“Okay, okay. Shit, forget the cents.
Forty-three dollars. Forty-three dollars and ... what?”
“I believe we were up to ninety-one, Ray.
Ninety-one dollars, seventy-eight cents, when you bash your groupings,” said
Billy.
“Forget the seventy-eight cents, all
right? Forget the goddamn cents! That’s ... one hundred thirty-four. Emil?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Huh? Don’t worry about it? Jesus, Emil! We’re asking them to get us outa state
here, you know? And so far we haven’t got fifty bucks apiece!”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got plenty.”
“You got plenty. Fine. What’s plenty?”
“Your turn’s right here,” the lawyer
said. “Road to your left, just ahead.”
“Goddammit, Emil,” Ray said. “ What the fuck’s plenty ?”
* * *
She’d driven by one day, curious, but as
an Officer of the Court and “Little” Harpe’s attorney of record, she’d been
restricted from going any farther or seeing any more than she was seeing now—a
wide dirt strip maybe twenty yards across cut through open, uncultivated fields
on either side, rising up the slope of a mountain. No house in sight and no
gate. No structures at all. But
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